True Grey

When Sirius came to, he could feel cold porcelain all around him-- he was lying in an empty bathtub. He felt groggy and dizzy, and his head was aching terribly.

I've got to lay off the booze late at night, Sirius thought, opening his eyes and squinting against the light. This had to be one of the worst blackouts of his life-- he hadn't the slightest idea what he had done the day before. With trembling arms he raised himself high enough to look around.

A flickering light bulb hung by a cord from a rough hole in the ceiling. The walls were covered with peeling paint of a pale green. A mouldy wicker rug covered the cheap plastic tile in front of the chipped toilet. The mirror looked as though it had been shattered and glued back together again several times. Nothing looked familiar; this was no bathroom he'd ever been in before.

Sirius stood on shaking legs and looked in the dilapidated mirror. A livid bruise darkened half his face along his jaw line, and dried blood tinted his teeth-- he had no idea how he had got in such a state. Assuming another pub brawl, he reached into his pocket for his wand, intending to fix up his face.

It wasn't there.

As Sirius patted down the sides of his robes and his trouser pockets, a shadowy memory came back to him. A man had hit him and taken his wand, a man with dark hair and strange dark eyes...

The sound of movement outside the bathroom interrupted the memory. Sirius staggered to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening...

"...wasting your time, Wilkes. He was Stunned twice within hours, he went and got his head beaten in by Dearborn, and he's been unconscious three days. There's no way he'll know or remember anything worth telling us."

"Come on, Rosier! You know he'll figure it out. You remember how bright he was when we went to school with him. Bloody geniuses, he and Potter were--"

Potter. James. Harry...

It was as though someone had flipped a switch from "off" to "on". As the memories of the past few days rushed back into Sirius's mind, his stomach lurched. Harry was still out there, somewhere... he had no way of knowing what had happened...

But they know, Sirius told himself. They could tell me what happened to Harry... He tuned back into the conversation outside.

"...Rosier, it's just a matter of time before Dearborn comes bursting in here with those blasted shotguns and blades of his. Sure we Wilkesd him away last time, but he didn't have a single weapon on him. We can't wait any longer."

"Shut up, Wyman, don't talk about Dearborn now. It's nothing short of pathetic that we failed to kill him last time. Our business is with Sirius Black today. Both of you fools, listen to me.

"Black doesn't know where he is, or what's going on. His mind is a clean slate right now. All we have to do is get him on our side. Then, he'll inevitably lead us to--"

Sirius heard the sound of a chair scraping back on the floor. Somebody had stood up...

"Don't be daft, Rosier, he'll never fall for that!"

Sirius now heard a second chair move as a low, dangerous voice said, "Do you think you know better, Wilkes?"

"Rosier--"

Sirius cringed as a gunshot and a scream shattered the quiet conversation. Two more gunshots, quiet, and then...

"Come on, Wyman. We've wasted enough time."

Sirius wrenched his ear from the door, threw himself back into the bathtub, and shut his eyes. The lock clicked and the door creaked open. Sirius heard two pairs of footsteps as two men squeezed into the tiny bathroom. He opened his eyes halfway, pretending to have just woken up.

"Hey, Sirius," said Evan Rosier. The friendly smile on Rosier's scarred face was as fake as Sirius's sleepiness. "Slept it off yet?"

Sirius chose his words carefully, playing along. "Just about," he mumbled, standing up. "I must've blacked out. What happened to me?"

"Caradoc Dearborn beat the shit out of you at the pub last night. How're you feeling? Wyman, go get him a cup of coffee."

Something clicked in Sirius's mind. The image of God's face surfaced at the mention of Caradoc Dearborn. But that wasn't possible... Caradoc Dearborn had died seventeen years ago...

"Dearborn was after your hide, that's for sure," Rosier was saying. "And he licked you pretty bad, to be honest. He wasn't finished with you, either, but we pulled you out of there just in time."

Come to think of it, Rosier himself had died-- killed by an Auror, just like Wyman and Wilkes, years and years ago... Yet he had just heard Wilkes shot to death, with an ordinary Muggle gun, not by an Auror but by a fellow Death Eater...

"Listen, Sirius," Rosier said, handing him the cup of coffee that Wyman had just brought in. "We did you a big favour last night. Now we need your help with something."

Play along... Sirius nodded, and took a sip of coffee. It tasted like shit.

"I've been stuck in this god-forsaken shit-hole far too long now," Rosier said quietly, glancing at the dilapidated walls and broken mirror. "But I don't possess the means to get out. I need someone a--"

He looked sharply at Sirius. "Someone as bright and as strong as you are, to help us out."

Sirius forced a smile at the compliment. "I'll do what I can."

"Excellent." Rosier looked very excited. "Now, listen carefully.

"Wyman, Wilkes, and I cannot leave this... area. Some-- some sort of magic has bound us here. We want nothing more than to leave this place, whatever it takes... but the key that can release us is somewhere that we can't get to."

"Rotten luck," said Sirius. "So where is this key?"

"Well, there are actually three keys," Rosier said. "One for each of us. Wilkes's is at Benjy Fenwick's place. Wyman's is with the Prewett brothers. And mine..."

Rosier let out a sharp laugh and glanced at Sirius. "Well, we'll take this one step at a time. Just know that the keys are already inserted into their locks. All you have to do is turn them. Also know that Caradoc Dearborn is your enemy. I'll show you where--"

Suddenly, the smile had melted from Rosier's face, and all traces of friendliness were gone. Instead, he was looking furiously at Sirius, who realised too late that he had been watching Rosier too intently, too suspiciously...

"You know, don't you?" Rosier said softly. "You were listening. You know something's up."

Sirius tried to look perplexed. "All I know is what you told me--"

"Don't lie to me!" Rosier pulled out a handgun from his robes and cocked it, pointing it straight between Sirius's eyes. "Tell me what you know."

Heart thumping painfully, Sirius froze. "Every name you've mentioned to me is the name of a dead man."

"Very good, Black, you were always a bright one," said Rosier maliciously, holding the gun steady, finger resting on the trigger. "I suppose you know what that means?"

"Yeah, it means either I'm still sleeping and dreaming, or you're full of shit!"

"Incorrect," Rosier sneered. "What else do you know?"

"Why don't you tell me what you know?" Sirius challenged. "Because nobody has told me a damn thing about what happened after I got Stunned... the first time."

"Oh, yes," said Rosier casually. "I suppose you want to know what has happened to your precious Harry Potter. Well, I can tell you."

"Go on, then! Tell me!"

Rosier laughed. "I don't think so. You get me what I want, and I'll take you to Harry. It's that simple."

"Can you tell me where Remus Lupin is?"

"A deal is a deal. Lupin doesn't enter into it."

"Go to hell," Sirius snarled. At these words, Rosier laughed softly, but said nothing.

Sirius's mind raced. There was still no sign of Remus, Dumbledore, or anyone else. It was entirely possible that he, Sirius, was the only one who was in a position to help Harry. And it seemed that the only way to find Harry was to make this deal with Rosier.

But he knew Rosier was a Death Eater, whereas Caradoc Dearborn had been in the Order of the Phoenix and an Auror-in-training. Whatever this place was that Rosier couldn't leave, it must be some sort of Auror containment system. But if Rosier was using guns instead of magic, perhaps what Dearborn had told him yesterday was true. And if Rosier was indeed a Muggle, surely he couldn't be that dangerous if he was released from this place...

Plus, there was a loaded gun aiming straight through his head.

"It's a deal," Sirius said.

Rosier lowered the gun. "Good decision, Black. I'll take you to the first house. And in case you try any funny stuff, I'll keep this with me." He patted his firearm as he placed it back into his cloak.

Sirius followed Rosier out of the bathroom. The rest of the house was just as grungy. Sirius did a double-take when he saw Byron Wilkes standing up, apparently alive and well, making a sandwich out of some stale-looking bread. Wilkes's chest was showing through three small, round holes in the front of his bloodstained shirt.

"Black and I are going for a little walk," said Rosier. "Wyman, Wilkes, you two hold the fort."

"Wait, Rosier," said Wilkes, dusting bread crumbs from his hands. "If you... hit the jackpot, you'll give us our shares before you take off with it, won't you?"

A grinning Rosier clapped Wilkes on the shoulder. "After all the help you've given me, how could I leave you behind?"

"Er-- all right," Wilkes replied uncertainly. "Thanks."

Rosier grabbed Sirius's wrist and led him outside. There was no trace of a grin left on his face; his pale blue eyes were set in a determined stare. They walked briskly and in silence through dark, dingy neighbourhoods. Vagrants watched morosely as they passed. Where they were headed Sirius couldn't guess; he followed Rosier, who never loosened his grip on Sirius's arm.

Rosier stopped abruptly in an alleyway between two grimy brick walls. Before Sirius could catch sight of what was beyond the lane, Rosier turned to him, his pistol out once more.

"Round that corner you'll see a house you recognise," Rosier said. His voice was dangerous and low, but trembling from the excitement he couldn't seem to repress. Sirius could tell that Rosier had been waiting for a very long time for this key that he was supposed to retrieve. Instinctively he knew he shouldn't help Rosier, but every moment's hesitation was wasted time for Harry...

"What does it look like?" Sirius asked.

"I've never actually seen it. But it should have my name on it somewhere," Rosier explained hastily. "Don't fuck this up."

Sirius felt the butt of the gun against his shoulder as Rosier gave him an impatient shove towards the end of the alleyway. He walked, not sure where he was going, and Rosier followed close behind. His chest tensed with every step he took, his head aching with misgivings...

He hesitated at the end of the alley, dreading what he was about to do.

"What?" barked Rosier.

"I-- why aren't you coming with me?" Sirius asked, buying time, trying to decide.

"I already told you I can't. Remember my magic boundaries? If I could go with you I wouldn't need you to do this for me."

Sirius felt the mouth of the gun against the small of his back. Clearly, Rosier would allow him no more time to think. Sirius didn't want to go through with this operation, but if he tried to back out he would be shot...

"Fine," Sirius said through clenched teeth. "I'm going--"

The sound of a gunshot broke open his sentence. Sirius felt his stomach clench with shock and fear-- but not with pain. Was he dead already? He could no longer feel the cold, smooth metal against his back; he heard the gun clatter to the ground...

"Go, Black! Step round the corner!" shouted a different voice, from a distance.

Sirius whirled around and saw God-- Caradoc Dearborn, he remembered-- sprinting down the alleyway towards him, gun drawn and trailing smoke. Rosier cursed and picked up his own gun with his left hand and pulled Sirius down into a headlock with his right arm. Sirius managed a hard uppercut to Rosier's jaw but soon stopped struggling as, with a thrill of nerves, he felt the pistol pressed to his left temple.

"Move a muscle, Black, and I'll blow your brains out," whispered Rosier into his ear.

Dearborn immediately stopped running, but he held his revolver in a steady aim. He slowly stepped forward, and Rosier responded by jabbing the gun further into Sirius's hair.

"Take another step and I swear I'll shoot him," Rosier growled.

"No you won't," Dearborn responded calmly. He took another step.

Rosier laughed softly. "Don't believe me, Dearborn?"

"No." Another step.

Stop walking, Dearborn, Sirius thought anxiously. Stand still, you son of a bitch...

But Dearborn walked on, slowly but steadily. Rosier increased the pressure against Sirius's head. Warm blood was streaming down his cheek from Rosier's right palm, where Dearborn had shot the pistol straight out of his hand. Rosier was panting and sweating with the pain and the effort of holding onto Sirius, but his face betrayed no fear and he held his gun steady against Sirius's temple.

Sirius watched Dearborn draw ever nearer, wondering how long it would be before Rosier pulled the trigger.

"What's the matter?" Dearborn said quietly. "Out of bullets?"

By way of reply Rosier quickly turned his wrist to aim the gun in Dearborn's direction, but the bullet missed its target by nearly a foot. Immediately he returned the gun to its place against Sirius's head.

"Clearly, you're not a left hand shot," Dearborn said. "Why don't you try again?" As he said this, he glanced at Sirius. Sirius got the message-- Dearborn was distracting Rosier, it was his chance to hit the Death Eater, to escape... and Dearborn was counting on him to hit well, or Rosier's shot may well be true...

But Rosier did not try for Dearborn again. "Do you take me for a fool, Dearborn?" he sneered. "You've been interfering for far too long, and I know all your tricks by now. Black and I have made a deal, and we both intend to go through with it. Isn't that right, Black?"

"That's right," Sirius said, without missing a beat. Now he shot his own glance at Dearborn, and he knew that Dearborn understood that he was lying.

"I don't intend to hurt Black unless you force me to, Dearborn," said Rosier.

"You underestimate me, Rosier," Dearborn said. "And I'm sure you underestimate Mr. Black as well--" He raised his gun, aiming it straight for Sirius's face.

Sirius could tell that that was his cue. Just as a second bullet flew from Dearborn's gun, Sirius transformed into a great black dog and slipped from Rosier's grasp. The bullet grazed Rosier's chest, where Sirius's face had been moments before. Sirius resisted the temptation to bite Rosier where it would really hurt, and ran instead around the corner, out of the alley.

"The deal's still on, Black!" Rosier shouted over his shoulder. "Dearborn can't take you to Potter. Just know that I can!"

The sounds of persistent gunfire reverberated off the brick walls. Sirius listened and watched, poking his nose around the corner.

Dearborn could have easily escaped through the other end of the alley, but it was clear that he wanted to follow Sirius. He had now crouched behind a dumpster, curling an arm around the side now and again to take a shot at Rosier. But it was clear that Rosier, too, was a skilful gunman; even with his left hand, he had managed to hit the part of Dearborn's foot that protruded from behind the trash bin.

As the gunfight dragged on, Sirius became aware once again that his time was draining away. Yet he had nowhere to go without Dearborn, and Dearborn was getting nowhere....

Filling himself with as much courage as a dog could hold, Sirius bounded up behind Rosier, who had fixed all his concentration on getting to Dearborn and didn't notice the dog behind him. Dearborn saw Sirius there and held his gunfire, pausing on the pretence of reloading his weapon. Sirius leapt up and clamped his jaws around Rosier's left wrist, dragging that arm down to the ground. Rosier fired his pistol wildly but hit only brick wall; Sirius braced himself against a round of well-aimed kicks. Christ, Sirius thought, is he wearing steel-toed boots or what?

Finally Sirius spotted Dearborn dashing towards him, limping from the wound in his foot. He had pocketed his gun and instead unsheathed a dagger from his belt. With his free hand he wrenched the pistol from Rosier's grasp, and with the knife he skewered Rosier's hand and pinned it to a trash can.

"Go, Black!" he snarled. Leaving his dagger piercing skin and tin, he tore off around the corner and Sirius raced after him.

Nearly a block from the alley, Dearborn finally stopped running. Sirius, panting, changed back into human form. Both men sank onto a nearby garden bench to catch their breath.

"Well done, Black," Dearborn said. "I'm surprised you caught on so quickly."

"You shouldn't be."

"Oh, I see how it is. You think you're brighter than me, is that it?"

"Yes. I kicked your arse when it came to school, remember?"

"You may have brains, Black, but your common sense and street smarts needs work," Dearborn snapped. "None of this would have happened if you had just stepped round the corner like I told you to. Congratulations on putting us both through a lot of pain and danger."

"I was still undecided then," Sirius explained, annoyed at Dearborn's attitude.

"Ah," Dearborn said shortly. "Nothing like indecision to ruin your chances."

"My chances at what?"

Dearborn didn't answer.

"Great," said Sirius, raising and dropping his hands in frustration. "Still, nobody wants to tell me what the hell is going on."

"Oh, you'll get your answers," Dearborn assured him. "But first I want to go somewhere and get this fixed up..." He indicated his bleeding foot.

"And these," Sirius said, rubbing his ribs. "Wait..." He was remembering what Rosier had told him about the key. On this block there was a house he would recognise...

He jogged back towards the alley, leaving Dearborn staring after him. He looked closely at each house. He noticed that these homes were stately and clean, most with gardens-- very different from those that he had passed on his way from Rosier's shack to the alley. No wonder he wants to get out of his neighbourhood...

Sirius stopped dead in his tracks. The house had been revamped, refurbished, but there was no mistaking it-- he was staring right at the front door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Why the hell would Rosier's key be in there?

He stood gaping at it for what must have been minutes, because Dearborn staggered over to him and waved a hand in front of his face.

"Let's go, Black, before gangrene sets in--"

"This was my house," Sirius told him. "I lived here when I was young."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Rosier said his key was in there!"

Dearborn raised his eyebrows. "If didn't know you were so uptight, I'd say you were pulling my leg."

Sirius's jaw dropped. "I can't believe youjust told me I was uptight."

Dearborn snorted. "Whatever you say, Black. Let's go. Oh--" he rummaged for something in his robes pocket. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Thank you," said Sirius through gritted teeth, grabbing his wand from Dearborn's hand. He followed Dearborn for a while past well-trimmed lawns and expansive gardens. "So how do you plan to find Harry, God?"

"I can't tell you that," said Dearborn.

"Can you tell me where we're going, at least?" asked Sirius, exasperated.

"Yes," Dearborn said matter-of-factly. "We're going to see Lily and James."